The Tipping Point
by dontaskimdissapointed
Summary: The year is 1983 and the world has descended into war. Avoiding nuclear conflict for the time being, border skirmishes have transitioned to pitched conflict between NATO and the Communist Bloc. On the front lines the tank crews on both sides prepare for the vicious combat of modern tank conflict. Different perspectives from cast of Girls und Panzer.
1. My blood type on my sleeve

_If history teaches anything it teaches self-delusion in the face of unpleasant facts is folly. We see around us today the marks of our terrible dilemma - predictions of doomsday, anti-nuclear demonstrations, an arms race in which the West must, for its own protection, be an unwilling participant. At the same time we see totalitarian forces in the world who seek subversion and conflict around the globe to further their barbarous assault on the human spirit. What, then, is our course? Must civilization perish in a hail of fiery atoms? Must freedom wither in a quiet, deadening accommodation with totalitarian evil?_

_Sir Winston Churchill refused to accept the inevitability of war or even that it was imminent. He said, "I do not believe that Soviet Russia desires war. What they desire is the fruits of war and the indefinite expansion of their power and doctrines. But what we have to consider here today while time remains is the permanent prevention of war and the establishment of conditions of freedom and democracy as rapidly as possible in all countries.''_

_-President Ronald Reagan to British Congress, 1982_

* * *

The one hundred and twenty millimeter round burst from the end of the barrel, exploding gas and smoke filling the void it left behind. An almost invisible trail of propellant smoke as well as the orange after glow of the hot shell lit the early morning twilight as the shell streaked across harvested fields and through frosty hedgerows. Mist swirled from the draft in the cannon round's wake.

The shell impacted with the hull of the T-72 main battle tank, just above the second road wheel. The HESH round blasted apart a segment of track guard and flattened against the side armor of the Russian tank before exploding inwards. The armored fighting vehicle shuddered and ground to a halt. Smoke rose from the front of the vehicle, and the commanders and gunners hatches opened. Two figures, obscured by the dim morning twilight as well as the mist clambered down the side of the tank. One sunk to the ground, clutching his stomach. The other grabbed a hold of the wounded mans shoulders, shaking him.

The smoke grew denser, and soon flames were bursting forth from the open hatches and the engine compartment as the fuel caught on fire. The surrounding hedges and low stonewalls were illuminated as the tank brewed up, burning off the nearby mist. Black oily smoke rose into the air in a column.

All of this Darjeeling took in from the cupola of her Challenger I tank. She looked down at the crew working furiously below her to load the next round. The dim green overhead lights illuminated them and their muscles shone with sweat, not just from exertion. She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her posture immaculate.

The British armored platoon was parked at the edge of an old growth wood, in a slightly elevated position overlooking the farms and fields in front as far as their optics could see. The other two tanks in the platoon barked as their cannons followed their lieutenant's lead, firing at the soviet tanks moving parallel to them at a range of just under two kilometers. Another tank exploded in an impressive ball of fire and shrapnel.

"Come on." Darjeeling muttered to herself. The enemy tanks, after a brief scramble of trying to figure out exactly what was happening and where they were taking fire from, were quickly turning to face the threat. The quicker tanks were already on the move; crashing through the hedgerows on either side of the road they had been advancing along before grinding to a stop behind the low stonewalls separating the barren patchwork of fields. Darjeeling cursed the low profile of the soviet tanks. No Western tank could hope to take any advantage behind such meager cover, but the T-72s were not Western tanks.

Darjeeling was quickly realizing that she might have pushed her advantage a little too aggressively. Upon seeing the Soviet armored column moving perpendicular to them along the road she had leaped at the advantageous situation, wanting to pump as many round into the side armor of the enemy before they could react.

Unfortunately she had assumed that it was a platoon strength force moving with standard support. She had assumed wrong. As the sun slowly crept higher and higher above the horizon she could now see that her three tanks did not face a trio of main battle tanks along with a spattering of support vehicles that would pose little threat to the heavily armored British tanks. Instead, a company-sized force of T-72s was now moving to counter the democratic threat.

Darjeeling reflected on the situation. Merely days before she had been relaxing with her friends in her families estate in Sussex. It had been a cold wintery afternoon, and a warm fire was burning in the massive hearth. The trio of friends had been sitting in the study, sipping tea and looking out over the moors when the radio had blared the news. Western Germany had been invaded. Britain and her allies were at war.

Tensions had been on the rise since the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. With the election of Thatcher in Great Britain and Reagan in the United States, relations with the Communist Bloc had gone from bad to worse. With Reagan's announcement of the Strategic Defense Initiative and with Soviet accusations of breaking the 1972 anti ballistic missile treaty the situation reached the tipping point.

All it took was for a single Russian fighter, flying a little too close to NATO airspace, to be shot down and the world descended into war. And here Darjeeling and her platoon were, pumping rounds into a numerically superior force of Russians. The radio crackled to life in Darjeeling ears.

"Commander, I'm counting seven enemy vehicles still operational. We may want to consider relocating." Assam's quiet voice came in over the radio. The fear was evident from the quaver in her voice. Assam was not the outgoing type, and she wasn't one to suggest orders.

"That's a negative corporal." Darjeeling replied concentrating on making sure her own fear was not as obvious. "A shrimp may attack sharks in shallow waters." There was a confused pause as her corporal tried to figure out the relevance of the quote.

"With all due respect I really don't think we're in shallow water right now Commander. And I don't think our tanks appreciate being called shrimp." Corporal Orange Pekoe chipped in. Darjeeling chuckled despite the gravity of the situation at her subordinate and friends reply.

"I will give the order to withdraw. But until then, I want to take as many of those bastards out as we can." Darjeeling heard her gunner cackle at her plucky reply just before the main gun fired again with a resounding boom.

The round drifted the almost two kilometer distance towards the advancing enemy tanks. The shell was so small and the distance so great that it seemed as if it traveled in slow motion or underwater. It landed just shy of a T-72 that was making a dash forward. Clods of sod, rocks and dirt flew into the air in a fountain of debris and smoke.

The enemy tanks were returning fire now and shells tore into the woods around the Challenger tanks. With the snapping of wood a willow tree came crashing down not too far off. Leaves and dust flew rose up around the fallen deciduous. Another Enemy tank exploded, the turret lifting off as if it weighed nothing and landing a few meters away. Darjeeling heard a whoop over the radio from Orange Pekoe.

The gunner of Darjeeling's tank landed his next shot directly on the closest enemies turret, but the lieutenant watched with dismay as the round ricocheted off the rounded armor, skipping across the ground like a smooth stone across flat water. Darjeeling cursed and the gunner ran a hand through his thick brown hair. Now that the enemy had their strong front armor facing them their job would be more difficult.

Just then there was a monumental clang. The tank they had hit had returned the favor, and the enemy's shot had impacted with the upper glacis of the British tank. Darjeeling shook her head in an attempt to clear the ringing from her ears.

"Is everyone alright?" Darjeeling asked, unable to hide the slight quaver from her voice. There was a round of confirmations from her crew. They had been lucky and the thick front armor of their tank had bounced the shot, but next time might be different.

"I want everyone to fire off one more shot, then we're pulling back." Darjeeling voiced over the radio. Orange and Assam both replied with relieved sounding affirmatives.

_**Boom… Boom Boom**_ The three tanks fired off a parting volley of shots. Another Russian tank stopped as it took a hit, but there was no visible smoke or fire. A hatch opened and the driver flopped out, missing an arm. Darjeeling felt her stomach churn, and she was glad that she wasn't close enough to be able to see the hapless enemies face.

There was a cough and splutter as the platoon of British tanks roared to life. The tracks clattered loudly together as the trio of tanks reversed as quickly as they could into the woods. Another round deflected off the front of Orange's tank, failing to penetrate the sloped armor. _A parting gift _Darjeeling thought to herself. Once the tanks were safely behind a ridge and out of sight the young commander radioed her tanks.

"Is everyone alright?" Sure enough no one was seriously hurt, aside from Orange's driver complaining about a bruised arm. Darjeeling flattened her plaits across the back of her head and allowed a satisfied half-grin to cross her face. She may have made a bad call attacking the enemy column without confirming its composition, but they had safely withdrawn and taken out four enemy main battle tanks and hurt another. The three British tanks turned one hundred and eighty degrees, churning up mud and rotting logs in their tracks before driving off into the woods.

* * *

Nonna sat on the edge of her cupola, holding on to the open hatch in front of her with one hand, shading her eyes with the other. The frosty ground reflected the early morning light, making it difficult to see clearly. The pair of T-80 tanks were driving full speed across frozen fields, tracks clattering and engines roaring. The tank commander ran her leather-gloved hand across the reactive armor bricks attached to the turret.

The tanks were brand new, and the best the Soviet military had to offer. They had been en route to a small town where a motostrelki company was being held up by a small contingent of Bundeswehr regulars. But when they had been a little less then five clicks out the call had come in, rerouting them to a company of T-72s that had been ambushed by an unknown amount of hostile tanks. The company was taking a real pounding, and desperately needed assistance.

"What do you think we'll be up against?" A voice spoke in Nonna's ear. It was Katyusha, her superior. The small blonde girl could be seen a little ways away, similarly unbuttoned from her tank. Her spiky blonde hair poked out from beneath her leather tank helmet. Nonna smirked to herself. Frankly she didn't care what they would be up against. Leopards, Challengers, Abrams. Nothing would be able to stand up to the deadly new Russian tanks.

Nonna reflected on her and Katyusha's time in Afghanistan. She remembered the heat, so hot that they could cook eggs on the hulls of their T-72s. She remembered the perpetual and terrifyingly real fear of ambushes. The fear of mines, of insurgents crouching in holes with rocket-propelled grenades or of suicide bombers. There had been days where Nonna had seen her friends killed by sniper fire while they relaxed on their tanks, their blood rolling off the metal hulls and seeping into the dusty sand.

She physically shook her head, trying to free the memories from her brain. From down below Nonna could hear the radio playing. She recognized the song and smiled, listening. The words drifted upwards to her ears, glancing over them before being snatched away by the wind.

_Gruppa krovi - na rukave,__  
__Moy poryadkovyy nomer - na rukave,__  
__Pozhelay mne udachi v boyu, pozhelay mne:__  
__Ne ostat'sya v etoy trave,__  
__Ne ostat'sya v etoy trave.__  
__Pozhelay mne udachi, pozhelay mne udachi…_

She sang along for the final chorus. She could hear the men down below singing along as well.

_My blood type is marked on my sleeve,__  
__My ordinal number is marked on my sleeve,__  
__Wish me luck in the fight,__  
__So I don't stay here in the grass__  
__Wish me luck..._

Off in the distance Nonna could see pillars of smoke rising into the air. She sighed, her mouth set in a grim line. Off in the distance were dead Russian tankers, soldiers who would never again see their families and loved ones. She remembered how at the time she had thought it was the worst thing to die alone and forgotten in some dry mountain or poppy field.

But she realized now that it was the same everywhere. What difference did those sandy rocks make from these frozen farmers fields? The result was the same. Dead Russians who would never return home. There was another boom off in the distance. Nonna saw a turret lift off from the chassis of a tank.

"Vladimir, what do you see of the enemy?" Nonna called down to her gunner. The grizzled man rubbed his grey beard with the back of his hand before replying.

"I see them in the tree line Nonna. There are three of them, as far as I can tell. It looks like they're about to pull back." The old gunner replied.

"The range?" Nonna asked expectantly.

"Just under four clicks." The gunner said, fiddling with his laser range finder.

"Let's see what this baby's made of Vlad."

The gunner nodded grinning. He fiddled with the dials, adjusting for wind direction, range and their current speed.

"Load armor piercing!" He called out. There was a clank as a discarding sabot shell was slotted into the breach. The barrel of the gun stayed perfectly leveled on target, the stabilizers doing their job nicely as the tank tore across the flat ground at an impressive top speed of fifty kilometers an hour.

"AP round up!" The loader called.

"Brace!"

The tank bucked, barely losing any speed. Nonna watched expectantly as the round flew through the crisp morning air. She let out an uncharacteristic whoop of joy as the round impacted with target. It was quickly followed by a groan of dismay as the British tank continued to reverse out of sight.

"Bah, either way that was an amazing shot you old crow you!" The veteran gunner chuckled at the compliment. From most people, he would have blown it off but compliments were few and far between from the stalwart tank commander. The wind tossed Nonna's dark hair and she dropped back down into her tank.

"What now Katyusha?" She asked her superior. The T-80s were quick, but they were still a good distance away. Driving into a forest against an unknown enemy would be a death trap.

"I've radioed in to command to let them know the enemy is gone. Katyusha wants to hunt them down, but we may be needed somewhere else." The commander squawked at her subordinate. Nonna sighed to herself. Her commanders third person speech was just one of her many odd eccentricities. Nonna relaxed into her seat as she waited for further orders. It came a minute later. "We're going to head south and wrap around the woods. Those T-72s are pulling back to rearm and regroup, and we need to cut the highway behind those woods until reinforcements arrive."

Nonna held her small paper map up to the light coming in from the periscopes around the cupola. Sure enough, just behind the woods ran a minor highway. Blocking it would cut reinforcements to the small town Nonna and Katyusha had originally been heading for.

The pair of Russian tanks banked to the left a little, staying in line. They passed by the now idling T-72s. The crews were now out of their tanks administering first aid to any surviving crewmen and smoking cigarettes. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, but it was still cold. Leaning on the edge of the cupola she watched the wispy tendrils of breath that left here mouth get quickly snatched away by the breeze. She wondered what they would have to face before their reinforcements arrived.

* * *

Kay pushed her long dirty blonde hair back across her forehead as she climbed down off her turret and onto the hull of the Abrams tank before dropping down to the ground. She straightened her non-standard issue bomber jacket, a friendly smile on her face.

"Lieutenant Kay, hundred and fifty sixth armor." The young commander said, outstretching her hand. The tall British girl accepted it, a feint smile crossing her features.

"Lieutenant Darjeeling…" The British officer said, and Kay noted the difference in how she pronounced Lieutenant. "…Kings Royal Hussars. Nice of you to show up to the fight." She spoke with a posh accent, which stood in stark contrast to the British infantry Kay had met on the road earlier in the day. The American's grin broadened at the barely concealed insult.

"So how was it out there. I understand that you already had a run in with Ivan." Kay's eyes glinted with an eager light. She grew up in a military family, and similar to Darjeeling had never seen combat. The British girls smile faded.

"We ran into a company sized group. We gave them what for, but corporal Assam…" She said, pointing towards a girl with long straight blonde hair lounging on the upper glacis of her tank. "…Says that she spotted more tanks inbound." Kay nodded.

"Our orders are to push up this highway. If you feel like joining us for a nice romp, that would be great. The rest of the company has been diverted to an engagement farther south and we need to break through so we can get supplies to the infantry in Winkel." Kay said. Darjeeling raised an eyebrow.

"Winkel?" She asked.

"It's a pretty small town a few kilometers from here. It would have no strategic value if it didn't sit on a key crossroad. There's a company of Germans holding out, but they're taking a real pounding. Supplies are ready to be sent in, but we need to clear the highway first." Darjeeling nodded.

"We're on standby at the moment, so it shouldn't be an issue. We'll move out when you're ready." Darjeeling said. The corner of Kay's mouth turned up.

"There's no time like the present. Let's get at 'em." Said Kay. Darjeeling couldn't help but smile at the American's almost childish energy.

"Right 'oh." The two commanders saluted and turned back to their respective tanks. Once safely settled into her seat Darjeeling radioed her crews, as well as Kay. "My platoon will move along the tree line. We'll watch the woods for a push from the flank, and be in an elevated position to fire down on the highway. Kay, you take your platoon up the road."

"Sounds good." The American replied. The six tanks roared to life, moving northeast. The two groups stood in contrast, the larger olive drab American tanks and the green and black camouflaged British ones.

Kay sat unbuttoned with just her head poking above the edge of the cupola. She absentmindedly ran her small hand across the receiver of the .50 cal anti aircraft machinegun. The metal felt cold and deadly. A chilly headwind had begun to pick up and her dirty blonde hair flew behind her. Her blue eyes were fixed on the highway ahead, ready for anything.

Off to her right she could see the British platoon. They were on higher ground as the woods stood elevated on a hill. Past the tree line, presumably across the woods she could see dirty black columns of smoke rising into the air. She guessed that they were from the soviet tanks that Darjeeling had knocked out earlier. Kay felt a pang of jealousy. The snobby British girl had gotten to the action quicker than she had. _But, _Kay thought with a smile _my opportunity will come soon enough._

Off in the distance the pop of small arms and the thump of artillery had been audible all day. A particularly loud blast dragged the American tanker back to reality. Someone not to far away was really getting pasted. The clatter of treads on asphalt drowned out most of the noise of nearby combat, but the pop, rattle and bang of weapons discharging could still be discerned. Adding to the noise, the radio suddenly blared to life.

"We got movement Lieutenant. The point of the woods, something's coming." Naomi said. Kay could picture the girl, her almost emotionless eyes fixed on her periscope.

"Potential contact, fifteen hundred meters, eleven O'clock." Kay radioed.

The forest, which had run parallel to the road for the entire drive, banked off at a ninety-degree angle. Around the corner and off a little ways were the fields where the Brits had ambushed the Soviet Armored Company. It was as Kay gave the heads up that two Russian tanks burst from around the tree line.

They moved fast, much faster than any tank Kay had ever seen. They were almost airborne as they cleared the ridge, slamming down onto the other side of the hill. They ran perpendicular to the advancing Western tanks, but their turrets faced the Americans. They both fired, and two shells screeched past, barely missing the trio of American tanks. The explosions shook the Abrams on their suspension.

"Contacts, Contacts!" Alisa practically screamed over the radio. Kay winced.

"Spread out, keep up steady fire on them. Remember to lead your targets. They're moving fast, so give it a little extra lead." Kay ordered. Alisa and Naomi gave their confirmations. "Darjeeling, I don't think they've notice your tanks yet. Open fire when you're ready."

"A friend is known when needed." Darjeeling replied. Kay sighed, hoping that meant that they were going to knock out the two enemy tanks.

The three American tanks spread out into a wedge, dropping speed slightly to accommodate the off road travel. They each fired, the rounds screaming downrange towards the Soviet tanks. All three of the shots missed, the enemy tanks moving too quickly and at such an angle that they were nearly impossible to hit.

Kay glowered. Moving in a straight line towards the Enemy would be suicide, but if the three yanky tanks could get close enough they could overwhelm the Russian main battle tanks. If the American tanks zigzagged they would be more difficult to hit, but even with stabilizers it would be a lot more difficult to shoot. Kay decided to rely on the Brits supporting fire.

"Platoon, spread a little more and zig zag. We need to close the distance."

The Reds, seeing what the Americans were doing, slowed down, their right tracks locking in place so the two tanks could spin a hundred and eighty degrees. Mud sprayed out as the tanks skidded around. It was at that moment, when the Russians were almost stationary that the British opened fire.

The three shots landed amongst the tanks in a tight grouping. Kay gave a whoop of joy as she saw gas and shrapnel explode outwards from one of the Enemy vehicles. But much to the American commanders confusion, when the smoke and fire had cleared the enemy tank seemed fine.

Kay had heard about reactive armor before. It worked as a proactive defensive measure, destroying an incoming projectile before it could impact with the vehicle. Blocks of explosives were fixed to the hull and turret of the tank, and exploded outwards just before an incoming shell or missile impacted. It was a very new technology, but obviously effective.

The enemy tanks began heading back the way they had come. Mud flew up behind them as their tracks ripped across the frosty fields. They fired another volley, and Kay's eyes went wide with shock when she heard an explosion off to her left. Checking her periscope she looked in horror at Alisa's tank. It had come to a stop, the enemy shell having hit right on the upper frontal glacis.

"Alisa, are you alright?" Kay asked, her voice sounding frantic in her own ears. The silence seemed to stretch into eternity before the pigtailed girl replied.

"Y-yes." The loud commander's voice sounded shaky and uncharacteristically somber. "B-but my drivers dead. It looks like Joseph's hurt."

Kay could only imagine the damage. The Russians were probably firing solid rounds, the high velocity of the shells making accuracy as good as possible. Alisa was lucky. If it had been any type of HEAT or HESH round, the spalling would have probably blown up the tank, or at the very least killed everyone inside with shrapnel.

"How badly is Joseph hurt?" Kay asked, trying to keep her voice even. Joseph was the tanks gunner, and with no gunner and no driver the tank would be useless.

"H-he's got a bit of shrapnel from the shell in his arm. But…" There was a pause and Kay could hear someone talking to Alisa in the background. "He says he'll be able to keep fighting." Kay took in the information and thought it over. She needed as many guns firing as possible, using their numbers to their advantage. But the Abrams was stuck in the open, a sitting duck. The lieutenant chewed on a strand of hair nervously, before deciding on the correct course of action.

"Bail out and take cover. Once we've driven off these assholes you can get back in and return to friendly lines." She said, trying to sound as confident in her decision as possible. Alisa began to complain but Kay shut her down. "That's an order corporal. You're no good to me if you're dead. I'm not planning on losing anyone else today." There was a pause.

"Ten four. Good luck lieutenant." Alisa said sounding resigned. Kay smiled.

"Right back at you girlo." Kay replied. They had now left the damaged Abrams behind, and looking back through her rear facing vision blocks she could see the living crew scrambling out of their respective hatches. The gunner was clutching his arm, and blood was seeping through his field jacket.

The lieutenant turned her attention back to the enemy tanks. They were still moving full tilt, heading back towards the cover of the woods. Kay had a mind that they were pulling back after realizing their inferiority in numbers. The American Lieutenant flashed a grin. _Not on my watch_ She thought with a chuckle.

"They're going to try and pull back. Don't let them get away!"

* * *

The two Russian tanks were in a pickle. They had caught a glimpse of vehicles moving up the road and Katyusha, in all of her over eager confidence, had pressed the attack. They hadn't taken into account the second platoon on the hill by the woods. Katyusha would have taken a direct hit but was saved by the reactive armor that had been installed just before they had entered combat. They might not be so lucky next time.

Nonna's gunner had managed to score a direct hit on one of the enemy tanks. Unfortunately the sabot rounds, despite their incredibly high velocity and armor penetration, at the end of the day didn't have the mass to have any real stopping power. She had seen at least some of the enemy crew scrambling for cover. But a bailed out crew was, for the moment, as good as a dead crew. There was one less tank firing on them.

"Want me to land a HEAT shot on that Abrams to destroy it?" Vladimir asked. The logic was sound in her gunner's question. Just because the tank wasn't operational didn't mean it was done with. The dead crew could be replaced and they could face the tank on the field of battle another day.

"Under regular circumstances I would say so. But unfortunately we have five enemy tanks firing on us." Nonna said with a hint of sarcasm. As if to punctuate her point a shell screamed past, rocks and dirty rattling off the hull of the T-80. The enemies were maintaining a steady rate of fire, and they were bound to start connecting shots eventually.

"Katyusha may have been hasty. Let's pull back and wait for reinforcements old friend." Katyusha said over the radio. Nonna sighed with relief. Her commander hadn't lost her mind in Afghanistan.

"Sounds good." Nonna replied. She pushed her long dark hair back behind her ear. Her cold blue eyes focused on the enemy tanks still over a kilometer away. The enemy could be outrun, but who knew if reinforcements would be arriving before supplies made it to Winkel.

A shell connected with the back of Nonna's turret and only failed to penetrate due to the extremely shallow angle of impact. It deflected off with a metallic squealing noise that reminded her of the sound a slinky made. The tall Russian girl flinched. They couldn't keep on relying on luck like this.

The gauntlet was run and the T-80 duo made it back to the safety of the woods, out of sight of the Western tanks. Nonna breathed a sigh of relief. The two tanks dropped engine power a little. Despite the speed and toughness of the new Russian tanks, they were less than fuel-efficient. They were already under half their fuel load, and would need to refuel soon. Nonna unbuttoned and looked back. The fields were scattered with small dark craters where the enemy shots had impacted, highlighted by the sun still climbing in the sky. Nonna hummed the song from earlier to herself.

_Wish me luck in the fight,__  
__So I don't stay here in the grass__  
__Wish me luck..._

* * *

Erwin was having a bad day. It had started in the dark hours of the morning when she had been left behind in a small town to do infantry support while the rest of her company had moved off to engage an armored push to the south. She spat at the idea. The Leopard II was the best tank ever made. Leave infantry support to the Infantry fighting vehicles and the older tanks. The Leopard II was built for the open. Fast, heavily armed and heavily armored. It was the best the German army had to offer.

And yet here she was, sitting in a street surrounded by destroyed medieval buildings. There was a screech followed by a boom as another artillery shell impacted close by. She instinctively ducked.

"We're down to three rounds of high explosive commander." Klaus, her loader, said. His face was grim and dirty with sweat, oil and soot. He pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes. Erwin expected that she didn't look much better.

"Don't fire unless I give the command. How are we doing for machine gun ammunition?" She asked, dropping into the turret basket. The men looked exhausted. All of them had stripped down to their tank tops; a thin layer of sweat covered their bodies. Erwin could only imagine how terrible it would smell in the tank to someone who hadn't been sitting in the same godforsaken metal box for the last six hours.

"We're down about half." Hans, the gunner, said.

There was a series of muted clangs as small arms fire hit the tank. A second later and there was a thumping sound as a soldier slammed their fist against the rear of the tank. Erwin grimaced. Climbing wearily up she pushed open hatch. The West German tank commander waited a moment to see if any fire would come pouring at the unbuttoned tank before quickly scrambling out of the cupola and sliding over the rear of the turret to rest crouching on the engine compartment.

A soldier was kneeling by the back of the tank, looking up at the female tank commander. He grinned when he saw her, and Erwin assumed it was due to her filthy appearance.

"You look just as bad asshole." She said. The soldier raised his hands defensively, letting his rifle hang by the sling around his shoulder. "What do you need?"

"We're going to try and push forward and take that building towards the end of the block on the left." The soldier said, trying to make his voice audible over the sounds of heavy combat without it being too loud for any nearby Russian soldiers to overhear. Erwin nodded.

"We've only got three rounds of HE left, and we're down to around half of our machine gun ammunition. We're barely holding on to what we have, why waste more ammunition and lives pushing forwards." Erwin said, glumly. The situation was starting to get desperate and she had no interest in winding up dead or captured.

"We need to counterattack before they get a firm hold in the town. If we can push them back then it'll only be a matter of when the suppli-"

"And what if no supplies arrive?" Erwin cut off the man. He looked surprised by the question.

"Of course supplies will arrive. It's just a matter of time." The man said. Erwin was impressed by his optimism. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"Even if supplies do arrive, we can't assume they'll get here as soon as we push those infantry back. If they don't get here the second we recapture the edge of town, we'll be left open for a counter attack." The man was visibly annoyed by the tank commander's words.

"Well what do you suggest we do? While they pour more men into this god forsaken town, we just stand here with our dicks in our hands?" He grimaced. "Pardon the expression." Erwin smiled. Even if this man was an idiot, at least he had spirit.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to tell your commanding officer that we will not be advancing. I have my orders to hold this town, and that's exactly what I intend to do. We'll cover you with machine guns, but we need to save the rest of our high explosive shells. I'm going to respectfully request that you don't attempt a push." Her expression softened. "I don't want to defend this town by myself." The soldier nodded.

"I see where you're coming from. I'll tell the Hauptmann what you said. He's a sensible man, I'm sure he'll understand." The man said. Gripping his G3 rifle tightly in his hands he tensed, preparing to make the dangerous dash across the road to cover. He took off. A Kalashnikov opened fire further down the street and the shots impacted around the soldier. Dirt and dust were thrown into the air but miraculously he wasn't hit, and he threw himself through the doorway of a nearby house.

He peaked his head out a moment later to flash a thumbs up to Erwin. She smiled and returned the thumbs up before he disappeared back into the gloom. Erwin braced herself against the rear of the turret before throwing herself up over the top. She dropped into the safety of the cupola only split seconds before small arms fire rattled off the top of the turret. She reached up and slammed the hatch closed, letting out a huff as she relaxed back into her seat.

"What was it?" Klaus asked, looking over his shoulder from where he had been peering out of his vision block. Empty shell casings surrounded him and propellant smoke still lingered in the air.

"Oh, you know…" Erwin grumbled. "Infantry being infantry." Klaus smiled before turning back to the vision block.

There was a shrieking noise as a rocket-propelled grenade flew down the street. It impacted with the front of the Leopard and the tank rattled, but was otherwise unharmed. Erwin winced. The RPGs weren't a big deal, but as soon as they brought up an ATGM the leopard was screwed.

"Either way…" Klaus said, not taking his eyes off of the periscope. "We're not going to last much longer if we don't get supplied soon." Erwin closed her eyes as she relaxed. She was sure that the worst was yet to come.

**The Russian song is called Gruppa Krovi and is by a band called Kino. It's an excellent band and you should check them out. This story will probably be updated relatively irregularly and will really depend on my motivation. I'll try and keep the chapters long and independent enough that they won't be left on real cliff hangers. **


	2. Children of the damned

**I actually had most of this chapter written over a month ago, but with school starting up again I was too busy to finish it up. Any ways, here it is and I hope you enjoy.**

Kay leaned against the track guard of her Abrams tank as she watched Alisa's tank disappear into the distance. The wind had picked up, and bits of ash and smoke were carried on the winter breeze. The air smelled of burning wood and oil. A cigarette hung limply from the corner of the Lieutenants mouth, and the end twitched up as Kay remembered it existed. She inhaled, her eyes closing shut a little before blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Darjeeling approached, pulling on a woolly off-white sweater over her tank top. Her DPM jacket lay draped across the barrel of her challenger. Her head popped through the hole in the worn looking sweater and she adjuster her plaits, making sure they were flat against the back of her head. Her blue eyes met Kay's and they nodded to each other.

"Smoke?" The American held out the pack of cheap cigarettes, extending one from the rest as she did. The British tanker was about to say no when a shy smile crossed her face and she nodded, taking the cigarette. Darjeeling stuck the cigarette in between her lips and leaned over, Kay doing the same. The Brit rested against the tank next to the Yank and exhaled, resting her hand on her hip.

"Cheers." She said, smiling at the American girl. Kay thought the casual word of thanks sounded odd coming from the prissy British girl. She returned the smile.

The tank crews were relaxing for the minute. The supply trucks had only passed the nearest checkpoint ten minutes before, and it would be another fifteen minutes before they arrived. The crews from the two different nations had been a little awkward at first, but were now intermingling; sharing cigarettes and swapping stories. None of the soldiers present had seen combat before, and they were all still buzzing on adrenaline.

Assam and Orange were chatting with Naomi, the short haired American tank commander. Kay couldn't make out what they were saying, but Assam said something that made Naomi lean back and howl with laughter. Orange Pekoe looked less than impressed.

Kay wondered how Alisa was holding up. Her driver had been a real mess. The Sabot round had impacted just a little ways away from where he sat in the tank, and a large fragment had mangled his face. Both Alisa and her Loader had ended up puking next to the tank during the slow and messy process of removing the corpse. Darjeeling's tankers had stood a little ways back, watching. The sight of the body was sobering. Even if a tank wasn't destroyed, death was still an ever-ominous presence hanging over all of their heads.

The gunners arm had been injured by a chunk of spalling. It wasn't too severe but it had been bleeding heavily. As soon as the engagement with the two soviet tanks had finished up Kay had hurried to get him bandaged up. He didn't complain, but she could tell he was in a lot of pain once the adrenaline wore off.

Alisa had ended up being the one to drive the tank back towards friendly lines. She promised that as soon as they were re-armed and had found a new driver they would be back in the action. Despite her phony eagerness, Kay could tell that Alisa was rattled by the death. The tank crews were close, and seeing a man you knew made unrecognizable by a tank round was horrific. Kay had seen them off with a half hearted wave goodbye. She hoped that Alisa would be all right.

Off in the distance a group of supply trucks were visible as little specks on the road. Kay smiled. Finally they were going to get moving again. She took one final drag on her cigarette before flicking it onto the ground and stomping it out with the heel of her boot. She nodded to Darjeeling and they both began walking back towards their respective platoons.

"Mount up lads, we're moving out." Darjeeling called out. The tankers scrambled to their positions, stomping out cigarettes and shaking hands with new friends.

By the time everyone was back in their tanks the supply trucks were drawing close. Kay recognized them as British Alvis Stalwart supply trucks. Darjeeling hopped down off her tank, pulling her camouflage jacket on over her sweater. The tall blonde girl threw a salute to the driver of the lead truck as he came to a stop. He nodded back before opening the door and dropping down onto the ground. Loud metal music poured out of the cab before he slammed the door shut behind him. He wore a black toque and rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold. He was a stocky man and had a thick brown beard.

"Y'all right?" The driver said in a thick London accent to the British Lieutenant. Kay was sitting on top of her Abrams a short distance away. She chuckled to herself. There was going to be trouble. Darjeeling was obviously taken aback by the Drivers informal greeting.

"So 'ow far is it to this town then eh?" He said, nodding up the highway. Darjeeling was stunned for a second before she responded.

"I'd ask that not only you salute your superior, sergeant…" She said, almost spitting out his rank. "… but also that you address me by my rank." The sergeant took a step back, his eyes going wide in mock surprise.

"Well, aren't you all 'igh and mighty." The man grumbled.

"That would be 'aren't you all high and mighty _Lieutenant'_! Or Sir. Whichever you prefer." Darjeeling corrected. "And the town is about seven clicks up the road. We've already faced off against a company of Soviet tanks, but there are at least another two vehicles somewhere up ahead. We'll lead the way, but you can't fall too far behind."

"And 'oos she then?" The driver asked, flicking his head in Kay's direction lazily.

"She's the American commander who'll be protecting your cocky ass." Kay piped up from atop her tank.

"Right-o, the devil works with idle hands." Darjeeling said. The driver grumbled something about wanting the devil to work something else. "And Sergeant?" The man turned to face the British tank commander. "A salute wouldn't be out of place." The man threw the laziest salute Darjeeling had ever seen before grumbling something about someone or other liking the smell of their own farts. "I heard that sergeant."

* * *

The old medieval house took a direct hit from an artillery shell. There was a monumental crashing as old masonry tumbled down around the Leopard II. Plaster dust and splinters of wood filled the air, slowly settling to reveal small fires in the remains of the ruined house. Furniture could be seen protruding from the rubble of the destroyed dwelling. Erwin wondered absentmindedly to herself who had lived there, and if they would ever be returning to their destroyed home.

The hull of her tank had started the day with a crisp black, green and brown camouflage pattern. Now it was dented, nicked and covered in dust and soot so that the pattern was barely visible. A spray of bullets sparked off the turret of the metal beast, and her head dipped a little out of reaction. She was getting jumpy.

"How are we doing for machine gun ammunition Hans?" She asked, looking across at her gunner. His already gaunt features looked almost skeletal in the dim green light illuminating the fighting compartment of the tank.

"We're almost dry." The young man replied, his voice sounding raspy. Not only was there ammunition running low, but also their water supplies were slowly bleeding away. The only thing they still had a lot of was fuel, considering they had been sitting in the same spot for most of the day, occasionally relocating when necessary.

Erwin knew that the circle was closing. Slowly the Soviets were tightening the noose around the beleaguered defenders, inching forwards house-to-house. The Germans were holding out as best as they could, maintaining their grip on a building until the last possible minute. But almost everyone was out of ammunition. The wounded were piling up. Almost an entire squad had been killed when a house collapsed from a direct artillery hit.

During the initial attack in the early hours of the morning the Motostrelki had advanced along with their BMP infantry fighting vehicles. The two burning personnel carriers blocking the main road into town attested to this push. The armored vehicles had pulled back when it was obvious the Bundeswehr were heavily armed with anti tank weapons. But now that supplies were running low, another armored push could be all that it took to finish off the exhausted soldiers.

A trio of Soviet riflemen attempted to make a dash across the road. Hans opened up with the coaxial machine gun, and the tracers streaked down the street. Two soldiers made it across the street while the third was sent scrambling back to the house they had exited from. When the coaxial mounted machine gun ran out of ammunition it would be up to Erwin to man the pintle mounted anti aircraft machine gun. It would work in a defensive situation, but any prolonged time spent out of the cupola would almost certainly result in death.

Erwin gritted her teeth. They still had most of their armor piercing shells, and three high explosive rounds were left in the rack. Rescue was looking less and less likely by the minute. Another Rocket grenade slammed into the hull of the tank, the explosion deflecting upwards off the sloped armor. It wasn't looking good, but the blonde tank commander wasn't ready to give up hope yet. _C'mon _She thought to herself, willing whatever logistics there were out there to come their way. _C'mon_!

* * *

Nonna surveyed the fields in front of her. The destroyed T-72s sat where they had been knocked out, many of them still with flames licking the sides of their armor. The rest of the company had long since pulled back, and Nonna prayed for their speedy return. The two T-80s had gotten lucky against the combined American and British force, and she was sure that in a pitched battle they wouldn't be able to manage the same results.

That was why she and Katyusha were not going to fight another pitched battle against the Western tanks. The Russian built tanks were now lying in wait for the enemy to round the bend in the highway, hidden in the murky darkness of the forest. They lay still like predators ready to strike. Birds chirped overhead and the cold winter wind rustled the few leaves that clung to the dry branches of the trees.

One of the big advantages the Soviet tanks had over their numerically superior democratic opponents was their ability to fire anti tank guided missiles. The T-80s were fitted with four Kobra SOCRAS missiles, which were fired through the one hundred and twenty five millimeter main gun of the tank. The missiles had range, incredible accuracy and were able to punch through the enemy tanks like they were made of paper.

The ATGM was already loaded in the breech of Nonna's tank, ready for Katyusha's order to fire. Once the missiles were fired all the gunner had to do was keep his cross hairs on the enemy tanks. Easy as that, four dead capitalist pigs.

It was always the waiting that was the most difficult part of any combat operation. That hellish suspense; the fear of the unknown. Once the fighting started the adrenaline took over. But the waiting gave you time to think. Nonna had learned this in Afghanistan. She remembered one especially brutal mission.

A platoon of Motostrelki had been clearing a village when the Mujaheddin had ambushed them. Katyusha's tank platoon had been tasked with covering the infantry's retreat after their eight-wheeled armored cars had been taken out by recoilless rifles hiding in the surrounding hills.

Nonna remembered the whole incident well. The pop of small arms off in the distance and the crump of grenades detonating. The screams of dying men. The fear of more missiles coming from the dry rocky hills. Her eyes had been fixed on every stand of deciduous trees, every jagged outcrop of boulders.

And there had been nothing for Nonna and the rest of the tankers to do for the infantry but sit and wait. They couldn't advance for fear of being surrounded. All they could do was wait for the rifle infantry to pull back. The wind had whistled down the sandy streets, past the darkened windows and doors of the adobe houses.

For an hour they sat tight in the midday sun. Eventually the surviving infantry had made it back to the edge of town. All six of them. One more soldier had dropped to a snipers bullet as the desperate men made the final sprint to the waiting tanks.

The situation they were in now wasn't the same as that terrible day. There were no friendly infantry who they were powerless to save. There were no enemies, skulking in the shadows of the trees. But there was still the suspense. The suspense that had her gunner tapping his toes nervously and her driver fidgeting with a sweaty strand of hair under his leather tankers helmet.

* * *

Darjeeling relaxed with her head poking out the top of her hatch. Her ears were cold, but it was much better than the stifling heat inside of the tank. Not to mention the visibility was infinitely superior to the small vision blocks and computers, giving her a much better idea of her surroundings. The tank slowed as the driver took the bend in the road, one of the tracks stopping dead. The sound of metal track links dragging across asphalt filled the air.

The British tank commander was frustrated with the Stalwart, or 'Stolly' drivers lack of respect. She knew that she could have been harder on him, but she didn't have the heart. All the same she hated such blatant acts of insubordination. It had been difficult enough to gain the respect of her men, and she always had a nagging feeling that the smallest incident could ruin it.

She looked back along the column. The five tanks drove in a row along the road, moving at top speed. Usually there would be precautions taken if enemy were known to be in the area, but the supplies needed to get to Winkel as soon as possible. Ideally, infantry would clear the roads, helicopters and recon would be on hand to scout ahead and there would be artillery on call to blast anything they ran into. Unfortunately they had neither the time nor the support, with the NATO resources stretched thin across most of Eastern Germany and North towards Scandinavia.

Darjeeling sighed. Their formation could very well be a death trap. But they would just have to respond to threats as they presented themselves. The Germans trapped in the town ahead needed help. And it would not only be a waste of time but also a big risk for the tanks if they showed up and there were no Germans left to get help to.

The column had only gone a couple dozen meters down the curve in the highway when the British lieutenants eyes picked out two specks of light off in the distance growing. It took her mind a second to register exactly what they were. Her bright blue eyes went wide with terror. "Missiles!"

The specks of light grew into stars, shimmering and wavering as they grew quickly in size as they tore towards their targets. It had only been about two seconds since Darjeeling had spotted the missiles, but her mind snapped to combat speed. They only had a few seconds.

"Deploy smoke. Move us fifteen meters to the right." Darjeeling voice came out cold and leveled. "Follow that smoke trail and put a high explosive round downrange."

The crew immediately jumped to follow Darjeeling's orders. Canisters popped from the smoke launchers, clouds of white exploding outwards. Darjeeling knew that as long as the missile was manually guided the gunner would need to keep line of sight on the British tank. If they could obscure themselves and change their position then they just might be safe.

Maintaining their momentum the driver swung the sixty two tonne monster off the road, crashing across a drainage ditch and through a flimsy wooden fence. There was a screeching noise that became audible over the roar of the engine. A second later and the scream reached an ear splitting volume, before it quickly cut. A pair of explosions cut through the midday air, one considerably louder than the other.

Darjeeling looked around, still unbuttoned. The white smoke hung in the air, beginning to spread with the breeze. Debris clattered to the ground where a missile had impacted, directly where Darjeeling's challenger had stood just moments before.

As soon as Darjeeling had made the call over the radio of incoming missiles the column had immediately spread out off the highway and into the fields on either side. All of the tanks except for one. A Challenger sat immobile on the right side of the highway. The hatches clanged open and the crew began scrambling out.. A hole in the left side of the turret, a molten red ring surrounding it from where the HEAT missile had impacted, smoked lightly. More smoke rose from the rear of the turret ring.

The smoke increased in intensity, pouring black and oily from open hatches and vent covers. There was a crackling sound, and a moment later the tank brewed up. Protective measures vented most of the explosion outwards in a powerful explosion. One of the two figures making a dash for the ditch on the edge of the road was knocked flat. Darjeeling gritted her teeth.

"For Christ's sake, I said I want fire on those trees! Follow that smoke trail." Darjeeling said, clambering out of her hatch.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" The loader said, his voice edged with panic. He rammed an HE shell into the main gun before slamming the breech closed.

"I need to help that crew." Darjeeling said before turning and hopping off the tank.

She was almost knocked down from back-blast as her tank fired. She stumbled but kept up her pace, breaking into a sprint. The massive metal war machines around her were opening fire, kicking dust and frozen plant matter into the air. She kept up her pace, her mouth set in a determined line. An Abrams next to her fired and her arms windmilled as she fought for balance.

The white smoke from the smoke screen, the black smoke from the burning tank and the debris kicked up from the firing tanks and impacts nearby all blended together to form a murky haze. Through it all Darjeeling could see someone doubled over the figure lying prone in the middle of the highway. The young British commander made it the last few meters, dropping into a slide.

Assam knelt over the body of her driver. The mans eyes were open and he coughed, a red mist rising from his mouth as he did so. The tank commander leaned over the severely wounded man, long straight blonde hair cascading down across his face. For all the years Darjeeling had known Assam she had rarely seen the girl without her characteristic shy smile. But the Lieutenants friend face was contorted with despondency.

Blood was pooling around the wounded driver where shrapnel from the explosion had punctured his camouflage jacket. He coughed again, trying to force a week smile. He beckoned Assam to bring her head closer and whispered something. Darjeeling didn't pick it up, but her friend wrapped her arms around the wounded mans neck, holding him close.

Darjeeling watched the drivers eyes waver shut. She got shakily to her feet, running to the closest tank. Naomi's head was just barely visible poking out of the cupola, and it dipped out of sight momentarily as a soviet round streaked past, impacting a little ways behind the American armored vehicle.

Darjeeling was finally knocked to her knees from the force of the blast. She got back up, trying to keep her balance. Her ears were ringing and a small piece of rock or shrapnel hat hit her cheek. Blood ran down the outside of her cheek, stopping just above her jaw bone. She scrambled up the side of the American tank, clambering onto the turret. Naomi looked up in surprise. They both ducked as another shell hit not too far off.

"Radio back to those Stollys and tell them we need a medic." Naomi nodded, not saying a word. Darjeeling ducked, waiting for the confirmation. The American tanker disappeared out of sight for a couple moments, before popping back up and giving Darjeeling a nod. The British girl smiled before hopping off the tank and running back towards the pair of tankers still on the highway, seemingly oblivious to the heavy fire landing around them.

The active American and British tanks were now working in coordination, leapfrogging forward. Two tanks would fire while the other two advanced, keeping an even distance maintained. Darjeeling noted that neither sides rounds fell with much accuracy, the tankers probably scared shitless inside their armored vehicles.

Darjeeling made it to Assam. It was difficult to communicate with the sounds of combat drowning out any speech. Pointing towards the wounded driver, then the nearby ditch the lieutenant communicated her plan. The pair of British tank commanders pick the man up by his shoulders and by his feet as gently as they could, moving quickly but smoothly towards the drainage ditch. He groaned with pain but did his best to keep still. They carefully set him down in the cover of the gully. Darjeeling gave Assam a forced smile and a pat on the shoulder before taking off back towards her tank.

Darjeeling's crew gave her concerned glances as she clambered back into the Challenger. She ignored the questioning looks, immediately setting to work analyzing the situation.

"What's the status on those Soviet tanks Kay." She asked, popping her head out of her hatch and scanning the tree line with a pair of old leather binoculars.

"It's the devilsome duo from before. They've taken at least one direct hit and they're pulling back." The American replied. Although she seemed to sound as cocky as always, Darjeeling could hear a slight waver in the Yanks voice. She was scared.

"We can't afford to chase them. As soon as we push them back we're going to have to press on." Darjeeling said grimly. If need be they would have to leave Assam and her driver behind with a medic and call in a medivac to pick them up.

Kay gave Darjeeling an affirmative. A little part of the British commander, the friend in her, hoped to god that the American lieutenant would find some reason for them to stay. But the soldier in Darjeeling knew that they didn't have a choice. They needed to get to the town.

The incoming fire petered out as the enemy tanks drew deeper and deeper into the woods and finally out of sight. A heavy silence set in, conflicting with the cacophony and noise that until moments before had filled the air. Darjeeling once again got out of her tank, heading over to the ditch where she had left the wounded driver and his commander.

Assam sat a few meters away from the injured driver, leaning against an embankment. A pair of medics were cleaning off their hands. The driver was shirtless, lying face up on a stretcher. Bandages encircled his chest and lower back. When Assam saw Darjeeling approaching she pushed herself to her feet, throwing a crisp salute.

"He's going to live." The corporal said matter of factly. "We're going to mount up with the Stalwarts. We've got a better chance going along for the ride than staying here and waiting for an evac." Darjeeling nodded.

She watched as the wounded driver was carried on his stretcher to the rear most supply truck. The lieutenant watched as he was safely loaded up. She nodded to Assam before the girl climbed up into the bed of the lorry. Not once had they acknowledged the death of Assam's gunner and loader. Darjeeling wondered what the Driver had said to the commander to make her react in the way she did.

The British platoon Commander made her way back towards her tank. She shielded her eyes from the sun, now high in the sky, scanning the forest. She didn't expect the Soviet tanks to make another appearance. Hopefully it would be a clear run straight to Winkel.

* * *

_**Boom**_

The main cannon fired, and the front of a building crumbled. Before the rubble and plaster had even finished falling there was a creaking sound. A moment later and the building collapsed with a crash. Erwin whooped and patted her gunner on the shoulder. Her grin faded as the adrenaline passed and she remembered that they had a single high explosive shell left. They weren't going to last much longer like this.

The pop of weapons discharging was picking up in tempo. The soviet infantry were making another push, and it was starting to gain momentum. The panzergrenadiers were being forced back, house by house. Wounded were being rushed towards the rear of the town. In the last hour the Leopard II had reversed a little over a block. The defense of the town was slowly collapsing farther and farther back and soon they wouldn't have any room to work with.

A mortar battery had ranged in five minutes earlier, and shells had been falling consistently and unrelentingly since. A round screamed downwards and landed in the street about ten meters away. Erwin winced as bits of stone and shrapnel rattled off the hull of the tank. The small caliber artillery was of no danger to the heavily armored main battle tank, but it served to keep the infantry pinned down, limiting their movement and fire.

Erwin noticed a group of soviet soldiers advancing farther up the street, about a hundred meters away. They hugged the walls of old stone and plaster buildings, leapfrogging from cover to cover. She tapped her gunners shoulders and he lined up the coaxial machine gun before letting loose with a blast of fire. It was cut short just as rounds started to impact into the rubble the Motostrelki were cowering behind. There was a ominous rattling noise as the machine gun fed the final couple bullets in the belt. They were out of ammunition.

With a weary sigh Erwin undid the hatch, opening it and slowly sticking her head out. She ducked back as a mortar shell struck close by, before popping back out, this time with more determination. She shouldered the pintle mounted machine gun, lining up the sights and tightening her grip on the trigger. A green helmeted head poked above the edge of a destroyed car, and the machine gun opened up. Tracers lanced towards the soviet soldiers, dust and debris spraying as the bullets landed. Erwin gave the position a good hosing before ducking down a little.

The dust cleared and a soldier slumped into the street, dead. Blood began pooling around a clean hole in the center of his helmet. Erwin felt like the dead soldier was staring at her, and wished he could have landed facing the other way. She felt a little sick. It was always Hans who had been firing the shots. And even in the close confines of the town the range was always great enough that they couldn't really see any of the pain and death they caused so explicitly.

Bullets rattled off the turret of the Leopard as the soldiers began pulling back, sprinting for the cover of a house a little ways up the road. Erwin knew what she had to do. Again she popped up, quickly shouldering the MG-3 and opening fire. Another soldier was cut down. Erwin ducked back into safety.

Erwin licked her dry lips. A wave of nausea rolled over her before she pushed it down with grim determination. She thought of the dead German infantry, and the living ones still fighting desperately for each house. She wasn't going to let the death of the enemy get the better of her when those men were relying on support. She slid back the bolt on the machine gun, checking the receiver to make sure there was no threat of a jam. Letting the bolt rattle back into place she settled back into her seat, tense. The enemy would come again and when they did she would be ready.

* * *

Kay tapped the tips of her fingers nervously against the armored vision block on the cupola. She sat upright out of her hatch, her eyes fixed on the distant town. The afternoon was drawing on, and the sun silhouetted the medieval town. Pillars of black smoke rose into the air and the thump of mortar rounds impacting was audible, along with the pop of small arms. She allowed herself to breath a sigh of relief. They had made it.

Modern tank combat was stressful. Pitched battles took place at ranges often well over a kilometer, with firing computers making shots deadly accurate. The mission had been made all the more dangerous by the two tank platoons lack of support. A tanks role was crucial, but generally couldn't be done alone. Reconnaissance needed to scout ahead looking for threats and ambushes. Anti air needed to be brought along to cover attacks from the missiles of helicopters and aircraft. Ideally artillery support would be on call to smash dug in enemy.

The push to the town had been spared none of these apparent luxuries. With NATO forces spread so thin, the small crossroad town hadn't been high on the list of priorities, and support had been needed elsewhere along the line. The push along the road had been nerve-racking, and Kay had been on edge the entire time, expecting the scream of a jet or the slice of chopper blades through the cold winter air at any moment.

They had been lucky with the ambush. One tank had been made inoperable, but it could have been much worse. The tankers had stayed calm and used their numerical advantage to force the soviets back. Things could have gone much worse.

And they had made it. Almost safe and relatively sound. They were driving hard the final stretch to the town as evening descended. The Alvis Stalwart trucks were following close behind the tanks, keeping pace. The commanders were almost all unbuttoned, scanning for any possible danger. The town hadn't been circled yet and the approach was safe. Kay allowed herself to relax a little, enjoying the feeling of the wind through her long dirty blonde hair. Considering it was her first day in combat things had gone reasonably well. But she wondered what the next days were to bring.


	3. So they shot at the horizon

_Ninety-nine red balloons  
Floating in the summer sky  
Panic bells, it's red alert  
There's something here from somewhere else  
The war machine springs to life  
Opens up one eager eye  
Focusing it on the sky  
Where ninety-nine red balloons go by_

_Ninety-nine decision street  
Ninety-nine ministers meet  
To worry, worry, super scurry  
Call the troops out in a hurry  
This is what we've waited for  
This is it, boys, this is war  
The president is on the line  
As ninety-nine red balloons go by_

_Ninety-nine knights of the air  
Ride super high-tech jet fighters  
Everyone's a super hero  
Everyone's a captain Kirk  
With orders to identify  
To clarify and classify  
Scramble in the summer sky  
Ninety-nine red balloons go by_

* * *

Erwin had accepted her fate. Her ears were filled with the almost musical ringing of bullets bouncing off the hull of the tank. An ATGM had impacted with the tank, and although the shaped charge had failed to penetrate the thick frontal armour, it had impacted with enough force to send a chunk of spalling into Klaus's neck. The wound hadn't been severe, and they had bandaged it. But Erwin could see the loader's hands shaking. He now fidgeted in his seat, one of his hands tracing patterns in the empty ammunition racks.

The German's were making their final stand. They had been pushed back to the very outskirts of the town, and the enemy were circling for the kill. The ringing pop of German H&amp;K rifles firing still filled the air, but the shots were becoming fewer and farther between as ammunition supplies ran lower and lower. The crack of Russian rifles, on the other hand, had only seemed to increase in intensity. The Soviets were gaining confidence as the noose closed around the Panzergrenadiers.

Farther down the street a PKM opened fire from the cover of a pile of rubble where a shop been only hours earlier. Erwin watched from the one of the vision port on her cupola as a group of German soldiers nearby pushed themselves up against the cover of a ruined car as bullets sparked and ricocheted off the metal. Their faces were grim and one of them covered his ears and pulled his knees up towards his chest as their cover was blasted by small arms. For the most part the initial panic had passed, and the young men and women were beginning to accept their fate. Help would not be arriving. They would either be leaving this town in a body bag or in Russian captivity. Neither option was appealing.

Erwin popped out of her turret, spraying off a quick burst of Uzi fire before ducking back. Even the machine guns were empty now. The tank was essentially useless, nothing but mobile cover and a death trap for the occupants. Erwin could feel her own hands shaking with a combination of frustration, fear and anger. This was her first mission and it was going to be her last. She was commanding one of the most advanced fighting machines in the world, and she would inevitably be overrun by infantry, probably dragged from her tank and shot in the street.

Far off down the street the rumble and squeak of treads on concrete became audible. There was a crashing of timber and falling masonry as a BMP troop carrier broke through the side of the house. It Rolled through the rubble and on to the street. The turret traversed, and Erwin watched with gritted teeth as the thirty millimetre cannon began banging off shots. The first few impacted with the Leopard. There was a horrifying clanging as the armour piercing rounds exploded against the tough German armour and ricocheted off, whizzing through the walls of nearby houses, phosphorous from the tracers flashing red. The turret continued its traverse, hitting the car next to the tank where the trio of Panzergrenadier cowered.

The Soldier clutched their rifles tight to their chests as they lay prone, unable to move. The car shuddered as chunks of warped sheet metal were blown off. Erwin could see that the soldier who had curled into a ball had taken a piece of shrapnel in the side. His comrades were powerless to help as their cover was slowly chewed up.

Soviet soldiers began dashing up the street brazenly, feeling safe with the knowledge that the German tank was non-operational and the soldiers were completely pinned down. They fired from the hip at the nearby buildings, bullets chipping away at the architecture. Erwin opened the hatch to try and fire off a burst from her sub machine gun but was forced to duck down even before her head rose above the lip of the hatch as a machine gunner fired off a burst. She gritted her teeth, her frustration rising.

"Jonas." Erwin heard her own voice through the mic. It sounded calm and defeated.

"Yes sir." The driver replied. His voice sounded similarly sombre. The tall young man had been quite for the last few hours.

"I want you to get out of the drivers seat. You're all going to pull back. I'm advancing and I don't want any of you coming with me." The German commander said. She pushed a sweaty strand of blonde hair out of her.

"Sir..." Hans said. He had been looking through the scope of the main gun, as if assessing where to shoot the enemy infantry fighting vehicle, but he was now staring at his commander as if spiders were crawling out of her ears. Erwin's eyes narrowed, her mouth set in a determined grimace.

"We're dead any ways, at least we can give those soldiers enough time to pull back."

"But it's suicide." Klaus said mater of factly.

"I know. None of you need to come with me. But I'm not going to sit here and wait for death." A small part of her wanted one of her men to speak up, to say that it was a waste of perfectly good military technology. That they were throwing away a tank for the lives of a few soldiers. But deep down she knew that either way they were probably all dead men, and at least this way she could leave this world with a calm conscience and the knowledge that she had bought fellow soldiers, at the very least, enough time to try and escape. Silence filled the tank.

"I'm staying." Hans spoke up first. He crossed his arms across his broad chest as if to accentuate his point.

"I'm not leaving you now. We've lasted this long for Christ's sake." Klaus said. "Besides, I could never live with myself if I lived and you died."

"You think I trust you to drive this tank? You'd probably end up running over our own men." Jonas said with a chuckle.

Erwin smiled. "Well then, let's give them hell."

Sub machine guns were passed out from the ready rack as the massive engine growled to life with a throaty cough. The advancing Motostrelki paused in their tracks, ducking into cover. Expecting the tank to begin reversing, they continued their advance, albeit a little more cautiously.

"Let's go Jonas." The engine revved as Jonas throttled with the clutch engaged. With a roar the tank was put into first gear. Dust from the fallen masonry flew off the tank from where it had been sitting idle for the past fifteen minutes. Bluish engine smoke filled the air, and the cowering German infantry stared from their prone position. Even the BMP up the street stopped firing in confusion as the massive battle tank accelerated. Erwin closed her eyes and listened to the revolutions of the engine as the tank picked up speed, changed gear, picked up speed, changed gear. She counted down in her head. Three. Two. One.

"Let's go boys!" She shouted. All the crew aside from Jonas pushed open their respective hatches. Erwin squinted through the dust and debris, one hand clinging onto the edge of her cupola, the other outstretched, blasting away with her p38 pistol. The air was filled with the rattle of small arms as the tank tore down the road, quickly reaching top speed. Soviet riflemen through themselves into cover as bullets sprayed wildly from the crew of the tank. Dirt and debris flew up as bullets pinged off rubble and walls.

A few soldiers were too slow to duck into cover. A man toppled over, Kalashnikov falling to the ground as he clutched a blood stain spreading around his stomach. Another one jerked to the side as a bullet punched in one side of his green helmet and out the other, a red mist following close behind. The tank crews ducked back into safety as they ran out of bullets. Empty magazines dropped to the bottom of the tank alongside spent shell casings.

"Brace for impact" Jonas shouted. The BMP, similar to the Russian infantry, had taken a moment to react to the German tanks surprising rush forwards. But the crew had now obviously leapt into action. The cannon barked shots at the charging tank, cannon rounds bouncing ineffectively off the tough hull. With a screech a missile belched forth from the launcher mounted on the top of the turret. Jonas slammed on the left and then right breaks in sequence, effectively making the tank swerve to the left, at the price of a little speed. The missile flew harmlessly past, impacting with a nearby building and exploding.

The BMP driver, finally catching on to what the Leopards plan was, through the armoured vehicle into reverse. The Engine howled with anguish and smoke belched from the exhaust ports as the tracks rattle backwards over rubble. But it was too late.

Jonas bellowed and animalistic roar as the massive tank impacted with the smaller troop carrier. There was a titanic clang of metal impacting with metal. The BMP's tracks spun uselessly as it was lifted partially off the ground, the edge of the vehicle catching on the rubble. The Leopards engine screamed as it was pushed to its limit, forcing the front end of the BMP higher and higher into the air. Erwin could only watch with a combination of desperation and satisfaction as the soviet vehicle was shoved upwards. Jonas turned the tank slightly, and the BMP began to tilt sideways. The Leopard crawled slowly a few meters further, and with a massive crash the soviet vehicle toppled onto its side, continuing the role onto its back.

A rocket impacted with the side of the leopard, and Erwin winced with pain. She looked down to see a chunk of spalling sticking from her side. It didn't bother her too much, the combination of adrenaline and acceptance of her own impending doom left her indifferent. The Leopard reversed a few meters before accelerating forwards again. The tank shuddered as again it impacted with the BMP. The air was filled with the shrieking of metal collapsing as the German tank pressed down on the weak bottom armour of the troop carrier. A crew member scampered away from the semi compressed soviet vehicle and the blonde German girl popped up, gunning him down mid stride.

Erwin slumped back into her seat. Bullets were rattling off the hull, and another rocket impacted, shaking the tank. Jonas put the tank into reverse, and the tank rolled backwards, bouncing on its suspension as it rolled back off the ruined troop carrier. The corners of the tank commanders mouth turned up in a grim smile at the sight of the obliterated BMP. She dropped back into her chair. Her glorious plan of action hadn't considered surviving this long.

There was a sudden rattling of feet clambering up the side of the tank and before Erwin knew what was happening she felt a hand reach down through still open hatch, grabbing her roughly by the collar. She struggled for a moment before the butt of a rifle connected with the back of her head and everything went black.

The first thing that Erwin registered was a terrible headache. Keeping her eyes tightly shut against the inevitable blinding light she ran a hand across her face. There was blood, and a lot. Moving her hand around to the back of her head, where the rifle had connected, she felt for a head wound to no success. The blood wasn't her own.

She blinked her eyes, letting them adjust to the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the cupola. A soviet arm draped through the turret, the rest of the body out of sight. Erwin groggily pushed herself up, peaking out of the turret. A grin spread across her face at the sight of a massive challenger tank sitting at a forty five degree angle at the bottom of the street. The commander rested on the edge of cupola, gripping a still smoking machine gun. She threw a crisp salute, and Erwin returned it.

* * *

"What the hell do you mean 'We're not advancing', they're sitting ducks!" Maho shouted into her radio, livid. Her face was red with anger and frustration with her orders.

"I'm Sorry Hauptmann, but the brass was adamant. The Soviets lost almost half a company of tanks earlier today with a clumsy push, and they aren't willing to lose momentum for the sake of a few enemy. The crossroads will be ours within the hour, as you said they're pulling out."

"We're not talking about 'A few enemy' here" Maho practically spat. "There's a company of infantry, along with at least two platoons of tanks."

"My hands are tied, I'm sorry. Standby for further orders."

Maho swore and slammed her fist into the side of the tank. Her gunner threw the irate company commander a worried frown but knew better than to try and console her when she was in such a mood.

A company of East German T-72s waited on the edge of a forest, the crews relaxing in the shade of the trees. A chilly breeze blew amongst the trees, rattling the dry and lifeless branches. The German tankers shivered in the cold, clutching cigarettes and drinking coffee. The sun had almost completely sank, and the darkness grew as the twilight deepened.

Maho clambered from her tank, crawling off the turret and across the unditching log strapped to the side of the hull. She hopped down the final meter, her black combat boots crunching on the frigid needles and moss of the forest floor. Reaching her arms back she stretched, her back cracking from hours sitting in the tank.

Off in the distance Winkel burned. Heavy artillery had ranged in on the ancient town, and the massive shells slowly and methodicaly were pounding the medieval buildings to dust. A jet screamed overhead, a black silhouette against the dark sky, and Maho watched with grim satisfaction as it dove for the town before banking up and out of sight. A moment later and a series of percussive blasts rippled across half the length of the town as bombs exploded, adding to the cacophony of the falling artillery shells.

It was all too little too late. Maho had watched helplessly as the Motostrelki had been systematically pushed out of the town by the reinforced defenders. She had grimaced as a BMP was picked off in the open, the burning husk still illuminating the surrounding farmers fields in an orange circle. Her eyes had been fixed on her watch as the minutes hand ticked bye, the defenders rearming and treating the wounded. Her commanders had told her to hold position, and so she had held position as the enemy had begun to pull out.

She knew arguing with her superiors was futile. Despite the rapid advance into NATO territory the Communist Bloc commanders were not willing to overextend for fear of an unexpected counter attack. Even if her complaining had yielded results it was for nothing. She knew better than anyone that it was too late. The advantage had been lost, and the enemy was safe. The worst part was having to sit idly by while it all played out.

Maho clenched and unclenched her fist inside of her leather gloves. She hated losing, and this felt like losing. Another explosion flashed, lighting the company commanders face for a moment. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils and closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. Her time would come soon enough. She made her way towards her tank, back straight and expression unreadable.

* * *

Erwin sat on the edge of her turret and exchanged nods with the commander of a Leopard 1 heading in the opposite direction. A column of tanks, anti aircraft vehicles and troop transports were heading in the opposite direction to the beleaguered defenders of Winkel, presumably to patch up some hole in the line. The passing Germans looked fresh, the tanks clean aside from the dust of travel. Night had completely descended by this point, and the only light came from the headlights the two columns moving in opposite directions.

Erwin smirked at how the survivors of the battle must appear to the reserve troops. The tanks were battered, completely covered in dust, mud and soot. She herself was sweaty, her hair a mess under her crusher cap and covered in grime and blood. She threw another nod to a few infantry men perched on top of their transport, and was greeted with shocked stares, their mouths slightly agape.

Erwin wasn't getting any false confidence from the troops heading in the opposite direction. She knew that the NATO forces were on the back foot, and almost in full retreat. Any troops going towards the front were simply there to relieve the battle-exhausted forces and buy time for the Western forces to consolidate into a defensive line.

The German tank commander scratched at her chin, rubbing off dirt and dead skin. She was too exhausted to feel dirty. There was a scratching noise as Hans flicked through channels on the radio before a song slowly came into focus. Erwin hummed along with the melody for a bit before breaking into song.

_99 Düsenflieger _

_Jeder war ein grosser Krieger _

_Hielten sich für Captain Kirk _

_Das gab ein grosses Feuerwerk _

_Die Nachbarn haben nichts gerafft _

_Und fühlten sich gleich angemacht _

_Dabei schoss man am Horizont _

_Auf 99 Luftballons_

She lay back and relaxed on the turret, staring off into the night sky. She wasn't sure if it was a cloudy night, or if a smog had descended from the constant discharging of munitions but either way she couldn't see the stars. She realized with slight perturbation that she was lying in the blood of the Soviet soldier who had tried to pull her out of her tank. There hadn't been time to clean it up, and at this point she was far to exhausted to care. The lieutenant lazily covered her eyes with the back of her arm, trying to block out the glaring lights of the oncoming vehicles. Dust and exhaust rose up from the passing allies, her nose filling with the smell of diesel and the metallic tang of blood.

_99 Kriegsminister _

_Streichholz und Benzinkanister _

_Hielten sich für schlaue Leute _

_Witterten schon fette Beute _

_Riefen: Krieg und wollten Macht _

_Mann, wer hätte das gedacht _

_Dass es einmal soweit kommt _

_Wegen 99 Luftballons_

The sounds of combat were growing fainter and fainter. With it her voice grew fainter, the words coming out quiter as she got to the last verse. The images of the men, both Soviet and German she had seen die today, flashed through her mind.

_99 Jahre Krieg _

_Liessen keinen Platz für Sieger _

_Kriegsminister gibt es nicht mehr _

_Und auch keine Düsenflieger _

_Heute zieh ich meine Runden _

_Seh die Welt in Truemmern liegen _

_Hab' nen Luftballon gefunden _

_Denk' an Dich und lass' ihn fliegen_

As the song came to an end exhaustion finally over took her, and a few moments later she was passed out. The tanks drove onward into the cold dark night, towards safety.

**It's worth noting that the German lyrics to this song are quite different to the English version. Sorry for the long wait, it was a rough summer.**


End file.
